


a certain degree of folly

by annejumps



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles in a Wheelchair, Charles is a Professor, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Sexual Inexperience, Teacher-Student Relationship, Telepathic Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, consensual voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7246753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Much to his long-distance boyfriend Erik's amusement, 30-year-old associate professor Charles Xavier has been asked by his brilliant and gorgeous TA to help her out with her lack of experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "The highest form of bliss is living with a certain degree of folly." -Erasmus

The fact that Erik finds it funny is oddly reassuring, Charles thinks.

“Really, Charles? You made out with your TA? Could you be more of a cliche?” Erik teases him over the phone. Erik is at a job site in Vancouver until December. Charles is across the continent at Columbia University, where during his first semester as an associate professor in the Psychology department he's become, as Erik says, a cliche.

“You haven't seen her!” Charles protests. “Gorgeous leggy redhead. Telepathic. Telekinetic. Brilliant.” In his enthusiasm he nearly shakes his Bluetooth headset from his ear.

“Does she know about you and me?” Erik asks, curious.

“She knows I have a boyfriend, yes.” He and Erik have known each other for over a decade, since before the accident that paralyzed him, and have been together most of that time, through periods of living together and apart, being inseparable as well as being angry with each other. It’s a once in a lifetime bond, something Charles finds hard to explain to others; he and Erik accept and know each other better than he’d have thought possible. All the same, they’d decided that during their times apart, things went better for them if they were free to see other people. 

“And she kissed you anyway?”

“She knows we're open. Are you all right with this?” Charles rolls to the entrance of his walk-in (well, roll-in) closet and looks over its neatly arranged contents with a critical eye, trying to decide what to wear this evening.

“Are you all right with me dating this woman I met out the other night? She gave me her number.”

“Of course. I trust you,” Charles says absently, inspecting an array of blue shirts. When in doubt, he thinks, wear a blue shirt. An Oxford, he decides.

“Ha. Of course you do. I'm more practical than you are. You're the one who gets carried away. I'll be there in a few months to pick up the pieces after your TA eats you alive.”

Charles sighs exaggeratedly. “She might, at that.” 

“She will. I know you, Charles. You're swooning right now.”

“Aren't you the least bit jealous of her, being a telepath like me?”

“I've never wanted to be a telepath, Charles.” Erik is metallokinetic and can manipulate magnetic fields, and in fact he and Charles had met at their local mutant club, where Charles had decided to start helping other mutants control their powers. In between chess games and making out, he and Erik had argued over what exactly “control” meant. Erik was a bit of a mutant supremacist.

“No, I mean… that she can bond with me, on that level.”

Erik manages to sound both smug and matter-of-fact. “I'm rooted deeply in your heart, Charles. As you are in mine. If you need to play with this girl—or let her play with you—that's fine with me.”

“Well. ‘This girl’ is coming over to mine in a matter of hours, so I’m glad I have your blessing.”

“You’ll need it,” Erik says with a chuckle.

“This girl” is Jean, Charles’ TA—an undergrad TA, no less. Jean is one of the standout juniors in the Psychology department. She’d kissed him Wednesday evening in his office, then blushed, flustered at her own boldness, said “Sorry”—and had then kissed him again. He'd pulled her into his lap, and kissed back, for quite some time until she made a soft sound in her throat that went through him like a punch. He stopped, intending to tell her they couldn't do this, only to find himself telling her to meet him at home that Friday evening. 

On Friday evening, after Charles says goodbye to Erik and has gotten dressed he's in his living room waiting for her. His mind is on the bottle of Viagra in his medicine cabinet. Having it out, or going ahead and taking it, would seem presumptuous; if she doesn't want to sleep with him, it's also a waste of a precious hard-on. Being paraplegic, at thirty, Charles is familiar with all sorts of bedroom aides. The fact that Jean isn’t fazed by his being in a wheelchair is an excellent starting point, but the physical aspect of things still needs some helping along, regardless of his level of enthusiasm. It's one reason why they couldn't get up to much further in his office at Columbia, even if that was one of his dearest fantasies. Charles isn't in the habit of bringing Viagra with him to work, but if this becomes a regular thing with Jean….

But he's getting ahead of himself. She could very well be coming here tonight to tell him she's not actually interested.

She texts, saying she's almost at the door, giving him time to get there. He’s thankful he doesn’t live in faculty housing—he’s not far from the campus, still in Morningside Heights, but all they need is for someone he works with to see Jean visiting him on a Friday night.

Her outfit makes him doubt she's here to put the brakes on. She's in a black minidress, longsleeved but revealing most of those temptingly long, pale legs, and wearing short black heeled booties, her bright red hair long and loose. She's here because she wants it, wants him. He gets a ridiculous but powerful little swell of ego as he follows her to the living room after showing her the way.

“Have a seat, Jean, please…. Something to drink? I have some excellent scotch.”

“Please,” she says, sitting, skirt hiking up her thighs in the process. He stifles a groan, turns his chair to his bar. He might not need the Viagra, he thinks wryly.

She's nervous, that's clear, but they've agreed not to read each other’s minds more than they can help, so after he passes her a glass he simply smiles, projecting calm. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she echoes, and downs her drink. Charles can’t help raising his brows at that, as he drinks half of his, a bit more slowly. Taking the edge off is one thing, but he doesn’t want her to actually be inebriated.

Jean sets her glass down. “Okay, so,” she says, and clears her throat. She wrings her hands. “I have a question to ask you, and….” She looks down at the floor, a wry grin stealing across her face. “I can only hope you won’t laugh at me.”

Charles’ heart is in his throat, but he takes a deep breath, hoping he looks relaxed.

“I…. Okay, so, as you know, you’re the only actual telepath I’ve ever really met. And… I feel like we have… a connection.”

“I agree, I think we do.”

“So I…. I feel like I can trust you.” Jean bites her lip, and laughs, breathless. “I’m sorry, I feel like an idiot.”

Charles shakes his head. “No, no, please continue. There’s no need to feel badly.”

“I kissed you the other day,” she continues, looking down at her hand where it worries a ring on her index finger, “and I want you to know, I do not regret that.” She looks at him then, and Charles is quiet, waiting to see where she’s going with this. He reminds himself to breathe.

“I wanted to do it. I’ve been wanting to do it for a while.” She clears her throat again. “After my powers manifested, I.... wasn’t exactly popular in school. It was your home courses, your videos, that helped me start learning to control my powers, but even then, too many kids remembered what a weirdo I was, and I still had… outbursts. I couldn’t wait to go to college. This was the first place I applied, because of you, when you were an assistant professor here after you graduated from Harvard and Oxford.”

Charles has an inkling of all this already—it was in her application to be his TA—but it’s affecting hearing Jean say it directly. “That’s very flattering, Jean, thank you. I’m glad I was able to help you.”

“I mean, I don’t want to sound like a stalker or anything. I just…. I guess I did have a crush, but I knew you’d done well here, you had your mutant advocacy group and everything, and I…. I wanted to meet another telepath.”

Charles nods. “That’s understandable.” 

“So… because I was such a weirdo in high school, I don’t exactly… have a lot of… experience.” Jean tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with an elegant hand. She’s not looking at him now. “Even after two years here. I mean, I love the coursework but it doesn’t leave me a lot of time to convince anyone I’m not weird.”

“Jean….” Charles isn’t sure what he’s going to add. He trails off. No sense in interrupting her just because he can’t believe where she might be going with this.

“As you could probably tell from my kissing you,” she adds, wry. 

“No,” Charles says honestly. Evaluating Jean’s level of experience had been the last thing on his mind.

“And…. Look, yes, I know you have a boyfriend. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to jeopardize that, or that I think I could. I just… there are things I want that I don’t trust anyone else to give,” she says, rushing that last, as if finally just willing herself to say it. 

“Jean, someone your own age—” 

Her mouth tightens and she blinks, brow furrowing. “Professor, you’re more than familiar with what guys my age are like. What they think,” she adds pointedly. While his own thoughts about Jean aren’t exactly innocent, he can only imagine what she overhears from just about any other man she encounters. 

“Right, true enough.” He swallows. He needs some more scotch, desperately; he downs the rest of his glassful. If he tries perfunctorily to talk her out of what she seems to be asking, he won’t feel quite so guilty when he agrees to whatever she asks of him. “Do you think you can trust me just because I’m another telepath? I must tell you, Jean, many telepaths don’t operate by quite as strict a moral code as I do.” And I’m about to agree to devirginize my TA, he thinks to himself, so just imagine what the others must be like.

“I know it’s possible for me to just… mind-control whoever I wanted to fuck—” between her use of that word and the fact that she’s uncrossed and recrossed her legs, Charles is a bit distracted— “but I know you wouldn’t let me do that. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be tempted to do it. I respect you, Professor. This is what I want.”

How do I excuse myself to go take my Viagra, Charles thinks to himself. “I think I understand what you’re saying, Jean. I’m flattered—”

“Oh, God, you’re saying no, aren’t you. I’m such an idiot,” Jean says, standing up on those long, long legs Charles desperately wants to get his hands on.

Charles waves his free hand. “No, no, it’s just that I’m British—Jean, please, darling, sit down.” She does, and Charles takes a breath. “I just need a moment or two to process. Er, were you planning to start tonight? I only ask because, well, there are preparations I’ll need to make.”

Jean looks confused. “Like….”

“Viagra,” Charles says. Jean still looks confused, and then shrinks in on herself for a moment, self-conscious. “The… desire is there, Jean, I assure you,” Charles hastens to add. “Very much there. The nerves however are not. The wires are a bit disconnected or crossed.”

“Oh,” she says, relaxing a little. “How long does it take to work?”

Let’s find out, Charles almost says. “It varies. With added… stimulation, as little as fifteen minutes.”

“But you do want to,” Jean says.

“I did pull you into my lap the other day, did I not?” Charles smiles at her. “Have you forgotten already?”

“No,” she answers, making a mock-indignant face. “It’s just… what I’m asking for now, not every guy would want to do.”

Charles doubts that very much, but doesn’t say so. “What is it you want tonight, Jean? I’m happy to do anything you like, I just need to know if I should… take anything.”

Jean bites her lip. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for that tonight,” she admits. Charles is a combination of relieved and disappointed that he doesn’t want to examine too closely right now. “I liked the other day in your office, on your lap,” she continues.

“So did I, Christ.”

“Only this time, maybe you won’t stop us,” Jean says, teasing, and Jean actually flirting with him after essentially propositioning him might be his actual death. This combination of sexiness and innocence would have him weak in the knees if he were able to stand. 

“Right, before anything else,” Charles says, inwardly congratulating himself on his steadiness, “we need to talk about the fact that you're my TA.”

“I won't tell anyone if you won't,” Jean says, with a slight shrug.

Charles pauses. “That’ll do for now,” he decides. “I must say, that skirt seems like it would make getting in my lap difficult.”

“I could take my dress off,” Jean suggests. 

Stifling a groan, Charles inhales. “Brilliant girl. Let’s give it a shot, eh?”

Jean stands, and gets the zipper down her back with her powers. She steps out of her shoes, steps out of her dress. She’s wearing a black lace bra and matching panties, the inky black a stark contrast to her milky skin, and Charles realizes his hands are hurting from gripping the armrests of his chair. With coltish grace, biting her lip Jean steps toward him, hands on his shoulders as she lowers herself to straddle his lap. Before, she’d been sitting astride him, twisting to face him. Directly facing him now, she leans in tentatively to kiss him, and he wastes no more time getting his hands on her, pulling her closer by the waist as she parts her lips to his tongue. 

He slides his hands down to her hips and then up and around to press his palms to her breasts. She gasps and starts a little—he hadn’t been this direct the other day in his office—but tilts forward into the touch, and in Charles’ fervent approval of everything that’s happening he starts talking to her telepathically. _Jean, you’re absolutely stunning. You’re a queen and every boy who’s treated you as anything less is a fool._ He’s mentally blathering, but he means all of it.

She pauses, and for a moment he’s afraid he’s somehow offended or embarrassed her, but she moans and presses closer, kissing him more deeply. 

Right, he has to get her naked, he thinks to himself, reaching around with both hands to unclasp her bra. Oh, yes—he pauses there, fingers at the hooks, and breaks the kiss to get out “If I ever do something or start to do something you don’t want me to do, tell me immediately or stop me yourself.” She can do that, after all.

She nods, looking dazed—oh God, she looks gorgeous, flushed with her eyes gone dark—and kisses him again. He unhooks her bra and gets his hands under the cups as they fall loosely forward, straps sliding down her shoulders, and sighs at the way she fills his palms. He kneads her, gently, and she whimpers—he realizes he’s the first one to ever do this, and the surge of lust he feels is such that he can’t completely hide it from her in time—he doesn’t want to alarm her with its intensity. But she’s felt it, he can feel it echoing in her mind. God, if it’s like this already with the relatively little they’ve done so far….

He gets the bra out of his way and hangs it on the arm of his chair, moving her hands from his shoulders to do so, and moves her so that he can get his mouth on her, hands cupping the backs of her arms. Kisses at first, but then he curls his tongue around a perfect pink nipple, sucks it into his mouth and then pulls off with a pop, and immediately does the same to the other. She clutches at his hair, gasping—evidently she’s very sensitive. 

So sensitive, in fact, that— “Oh, please, please,” she says, practically tugging at his scalp, and he does exactly what he just did again. He can’t even get a hand on or in her knickers before she’s panting, high-pitched and breathless, and he realizes she’s coming, the sensation of it washing into his mind and triggering a small but intense peak of his own. Most of his orgasms now are psychogenic anyway, rather than directly physical, so the fact of it isn’t unusual, but how lovely to feel hers like that—the first orgasm she’s had by someone else. He’s aware that everything in the apartment is rattling slightly, as if there’s been a small earthquake, and smiles at her; it stops.

She blinks down at him, chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths, nipples glistening with his saliva and pulling tight in the cool air. Her skin is blotchy with pink, just like his gets sometimes. 

“Right,” Charles says, practicing herculean restraint, hands sliding slowly to her waist. “I think that’s enough fun for one evening, darling.” Jean opens her mouth to protest. “I only mean,” Charles adds, “that you said before you weren’t ready for anything too advanced. I don’t want you to plunge ahead in the heat of the moment and end up regretting doing more than you’re ready for, more than you intended.”

Blinking, trying to steady herself, eventually she nods. “You’re right. But don’t you want to….” She gestures, blushing.

“I did when you did,” he tells her, and she looks surprised; evidently she’d been so wrapped up she’d missed that. For that to happen to someone as sharp as Jean is so hot he has to force himself not to think about it just now. “Besides, you mustn’t worry about me. This is about you.”

“Yeah,” she says, but makes no move to get up. “I need a moment,” she says, and he nods. 

“Take your time.” He takes her bra up from the arm of his chair and hands it to her, purely out of gentlemanliness since he’s more than fine with the view. She takes it, but doesn’t put it on. Charles decides to savor having a half-naked girl in his lap. “Right, so Monday,” he says. “We’ll have the weekend to sort out our thoughts, and then on Monday we’ll see how we do during a schoolday, if you don’t want to any longer, if you’d rather not be my TA anymore.” It’s incredibly important to make sure Jean’s comfortable and is aware she has options. As he speaks, he combs a hand through her hair, watching her regain her composure. She nods when he’s done speaking, then puts her bra back on. 

On slightly unsteady legs, she gets to her feet, puts her dress back on, and puts on her shoes. She accepts his offer to call her a cab and pay for her fare. He’d love to have her in his bed tonight, but it’s altogether too tempting, and she needs time to decompress. For that matter, so does he.

In parting, once her cab’s arrived and he’s given her cash she bends down, and he kisses her cheek. “I’ll see you Monday.”

\-------

Charles calls Erik immediately after Jean leaves. Good thing it’s three hours earlier in Vancouver.

With no preamble, he exclaims, “You won’t believe what’s just happened.”

“Won’t I?”

Erik’s difficult to surprise, but Charles thinks he might have him this time. “She’s asked me to help her make up her lack of experience.”

Erik sighs, amused. “You’re not actually going to do it, are you? You’re not actually going to initiate a virgin.” It’s clear he knows Charles will.

And God, just hearing it put that way makes his head spin. “You think I’d turn her down, and let some bumbling careless idiot get there first?”

“You British and your need to plant your flag.”

“I should never have shown you that Eddie Izzard sketch. I’m American too, you know.”

“How far did you get on this journey this evening, Charles? What… base did you get to, as you Americans like to put it?”

Charles ignores that. “She didn’t want to get up to all that much this evening and do anything she wasn’t ready for, but….” He can’t keep the pride out of his voice. “She did come. Just from me playing with her breasts.” 

“Do go on.” Erik’s making some sort of rustling noise.

“She was on my lap, and she’d taken her dress off because otherwise she couldn’t straddle me properly, and I got her bra off and got my mouth on her—hang on, Erik, are you having a wank?”

There’s a pause. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

“I didn’t, but honestly, Erik—”

“Look, if I can’t be there the least I can do is get off to your voice describing it to me.”

“Fair enough. Right, well, she was so responsive she got off just from that.”

“What was she wearing?” 

Charles sighs. “Black minidress, black bra and knickers. Absolutely perfect breasts, Erik.”

“How does she feel about threesomes?”

“Good Lord, Erik. Won’t do to completely intimidate the girl right out of the gate.” Erik is frighteningly well endowed. But what he’s suggested is certainly something to think about…. “I’m not saying it’s not a possibility but I don’t think it’s on the table just yet.”

“That’s not the sort of talk I find it easy to get off to,” Erik tells him. “I wasn’t being entirely serious, but if you are, don’t expect me to let you forget about it.”

After an absurdly detailed description from Charles of Jean’s breasts and how it had felt to feel her coming, Erik finally gets off, and soon after, they say goodnight. As Charles gets ready for bed, he finds himself both anticipating and dreading Monday: either things will be terribly awkward and she’ll call the entire thing off and possibly quit being his TA, or they’ll agree to see each other again next Friday, and he’ll go mad from waiting until the end of the week.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles didn’t get through Harvard and Oxford with flying colors by letting himself get easily distracted, and so he’s able to spend the weekend sorting out his work for Monday without dwelling on Jean. He’s careful not to contact her more than he absolutely needs to, and keeps his texts limited to coordinating things for work. On Monday morning, though, he isn’t sure what will await him when he sees Jean in person.

In contrast to Friday evening, she looks as she would at school any other day. Her long hair is in a braid, she’s wearing jeans, and she has no bright red lipstick on. She acts toward him like she would on any other day, as if she hadn’t been sitting half-naked in his lap two days before. It’s as if she isn’t even thinking about it. Charles, however, is, and has to direct himself back to the matter at hand a time or two, lest he find himself trying absently licking his lips, thinking of how her skin had felt and tasted against his tongue. He has to admire her professionalism; she really is a focused hard worker. He’ll be sure to write however many glowing letters of recommendation she may need.

At the end of the day, she comes to his office door. “Friday?” she asks, a certain air of shyness and hesitation underscoring the delightful directness of the request and adding to its appeal. “Same time?” she adds.

“Er, yes,” he replies, rather taken aback when he thinks about it—he’d been expecting some sort of prior discussion of how they’d proceed. Perhaps something like that wasn’t needed, at least not yet. “Yes, that would be just fine.” She smiles, and leaves.

The rest of the week continues much like Monday. There really is a lot of work to do, and Jean handles it well, just as she has been. He’s still distracted every now and then by trying to picture her completely naked and lying across his bed.

On Friday, when she arrives at his apartment she’s wearing a flowing knee-length dress, a thin cardigan, and flats. Nothing so bold as last week, but then, now she knows she doesn’t need it. Not dissimilarly, Charles himself is in a t-shirt rather than an Oxford, though it’s still blue. Her hair’s in a braid, and Charles can’t help thinking about unraveling it.

She takes off her cardigan and accepts his offer of scotch, and seems a little more comfortable when she sits this time. Still, there’s an air about her of not being sure of herself that makes him ache for her a bit. If Jean realized her full potential, the world would be her oyster.

They each have a sip, and Charles decides to get right to it. “I’m afraid I was a bit too hasty when last we met,” Charles says. “I didn’t expect you to be so responsive, and, well, the thing to do seemed to be to keep going.”

Jean’s shoulders raise up a bit; her mouth thins, and an uncertainty in the air reveals her to be self-conscious at his words. Charles shakes his head, putting a hand out to briefly touch her knee. “It’s nothing you’ve done wrong, not in the slightest,” he tells her. “On the contrary, you’re lovely and it’s my responsibility to know what to do with that and to temper my response to you, which means I’ve got to give you a proper amount of time. I know that last Friday that I told you I didn’t want you to do more than you were ready for, so I sent you home, but I think tonight you ought to sleep here. That way we’ll have plenty of time, and no need to rush. We can do as little or as much as you like.” Jean’s shoulders have crept back down, and she looks, God help him, intrigued.

“I think that’s a good idea,” she says.

“Thought you might. Now, we can begin out here, as we did last time, or we can go on to bed.”

“Bed,” she says almost right away, looking at him and then down at the floor.

“Shall we finish our scotch first?” Charles asks, eyebrows raised. “There’s no rush.”

Now Jean’s red-faced. “Sorry,” she mutters, and downs the rest of the scotch.

“No, no, not at all. It’s just… we have all night. If you’re in a hurry I’d rather it be due to eagerness than nervousness.”

She nods.

“And no more scotch,” he adds, with a smile. “Clear-eyed decisions, Jean.”

Jean sighs. “I know, I’m just… impatient.” She sends him an image of herself in the bath from earlier that week, her hand between her legs. Throat suddenly dry, he swallows. “It’s all this… frustrated energy. You know what it was like last week”—he certainly does— “just from….”

Rather than tell Jean how incredibly sexy it is that she’s so sensitive, Charles says instead, “I can help you control that, too. Not diminish it or stifle it, never that, except when that’s what you want. But you can channel it, wield it. Amplify it, delay it. It’s a response of the brain like anything else. That way, you won’t have to worry about it getting out of hand. You can just enjoy yourself. Let yourself go, without fear.” Jean wants all this, he’s sure, but fear—of the unknown, of losing control—is holding her back. He needs to help her with a mental safety net. “I'll wall us in, no need to worry about anyone outside this apartment hearing you or feeling you.”

She looks at him a long time, and then nods.

“Right. So… bed,” Charles begins. Jean stands, and steps out of her shoes. “I didn’t mean right now, I was only going to say….” He trails off as she pulls her dress over her head. Her bra and panties are robin’s-egg blue. She's so pretty it hurts to look at her. “Bedroom’s down the hall, second left.”

He follows her, eyes glued to her as she walks, her braid and her hips swaying with every step. Her head is held high, and her bravado is almost palpable. In his bedroom, she stops at the foot of his bed and unclasps her bra— “Wait, wait,” Charles says, “let me see you.”

She turns to face him fully, and takes it off, dropping it to the floor. Hastily, in a sort of solidarity Charles pulls off his t-shirt, and is gratified by the way Jean looks at his shoulders. Before he can really savor that, she’s taking her knickers off.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

Jean pulls the end of her braid over her shoulder, pulls the tie loose, and unravels it, shaking her hair loose.

“On the bed,” he says, and transfers himself in record time. “Wait, Jean, what is it you want?” he asks, as she lies down next to him, on her side facing him. His hands itch to touch her but he doesn’t yet, not until he understands her intentions. She’s determined, he can tell, that uncertainty gone, at least for now. But surely he won’t need to get the Viagra tonight.

“I want you to touch me,” she says. Jean is a woman of few words when it comes down to it, but the ones she says, she means.

He doesn’t touch her yet, although the swell of her breasts is absolutely begging for it. Instead, he asks, tapping his temple, “Do I have your permission to be in your mind when I do? To help you with your control.”

She nods, then takes his hand and puts it to her breast. Well. Jean presses forward to kiss him as he circles a nipple with his thumb, slow, feeling it tighten, and enters her mind.

 _The first step to controlling this is to identify what you’re feeling. What’s lighting up when I do this?_ He flicks his thumb across the nipple, then pinches it. _In your body and your mind. Think about what’s being stimulated._ She’s already breathing harder, shifting. _Take it down, smooth it out. Sustain it._ She does, in response to his gently rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her nerves light up every time he applies pressure, and she learns to route the feeling back into itself fairly quickly once she starts concentrating. Soon enough, though, she’s built up enough that she’s frustrated.

He wants to watch her face—the kissing is distracting her—so he shifts back. “Please, I need more,” she says, low and urgent. “Can you tell? I need more.”

He trails the back of his knuckles down the center of her chest, pausing over her navel. “On your back, love, spread your lovely legs for me,” he says, “just a bit, there, that’s good.” He projects as much reassurance as he can manage, and places his hand over her thatch of curls, hot under his palm. He hears her intake of breath and senses her nerves coming to attention. “Now, I am just going to do this—” he rubs her, gently, lightly, in small circles— “and you only have to feel it.”

She stares at the ceiling, eyes unfocusing, lips parted, and he gradually rubs just a bit harder, though he’s still very gentle. Her breath catches. Charles says quietly, “Nothing inside, not if you don’t want.” She’s barely paying attention, though, focused utterly on the nerves firing because of his fingers. Every time they press her clitoris, she shudders bodily, and it’s not long until his fingertips are slick. He keeps moving in the same way, not knowing whether she prefers direct or indirect pressure, a firm or light touch. For now, let her get used to the sensation of someone else’s fingers. Before long, she’s shifting restlessly, pressing up into his hand.

Since he lost most of the sensation in his cock, not only have Charles’ hands become more sensitive, he’s made more and better use of them. And a cock, after all, can’t be so nimble, dexterous, or fine-tuned. He wants to slide a finger or two in her, feel her tighten around him, slick and hot, and to feel it in her mind. Perhaps now she’d like that.

“May I—” he says, and strokes a fingertip very lightly around her. She gasps out “Please” and parts her thighs further. He’s slow and careful, one finger in shallowly, and a new set of nerves lights up. A little deeper; another finger nudges at her at the outside. His thumb rubs her clitoris; her thighs tense, she arches up, seeking pressure, and she’s starting to gasp as she begins to tighten around him, one hand going up and behind her to smack against and then grip the headboard.

“I want you to do something for me,” he says, stilling the movement of his hand, ignoring her whimper of protest. _Take that feeling down and route it back in on itself. Let it build._ He stops moving, waits a few beats, then starts again.

“Do you not want me to—”

He stops once more, then kisses her temple. “I do. I just want you to try something. It’s perfectly fine to come as hard and as often as you like, Jean, I just don’t want you to feel as though you’re completely at the mercy of your own sensations. This way, losing control can be a choice. And if you build it with starts and stops like this, when you finally come, it’ll be like nothing else. Have you ever tried that before?”

She shakes her head minutely.

“Understandable, it might not occur to you to delay your gratification if it’s right there. But try it. Think of it as a controlled burn versus a conflagration.”

He decides to focus on her clitoris, although he leaves his finger inside her, and gently kneads it with his thumb. _Good? Harder? Faster?_

 _Right there_ , she says, frantic. _Harder. Right there_. He obeys.

When she’s close again, he stops, and she sobs, the bed and the pictures on the wall shaking briefly. One more round of this and she’s wanton, arching again, rolling her hips into the friction, thighs tensing. She’s panting, now gripping the headboard with both hands.

He can feel it building in her, the fire being stoked, and then when he gives her clitoris a firmer press and a rub suddenly she comes like a eruption, with a cry, clenching around his finger and pressing into his hand, and he sees a wall of flames in her mind, in their minds.

And then, Charles sees only black.

An unknown time later, Charles opens his eyes to Jean’s very pale, worried face above him; evidently she’s been shaking him. “Professor—”

“I think at this point you can call me Charles, darling, at least here—what’s happened?”

“You passed out.”

He remembers now, and blinks at her.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Prof—Charles.”

He takes her hand and kisses the back of it, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Not at all, darling,” he says, not bothering to keep the awe from his voice. It’s a little absurd to say he’s honored, or to congratulate her, so he refrains. “As the song says, what a lovely way to burn.”

\-------

“—She made me _pass out_ ,” he’s telling Erik, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. Jean is out like a light in his bed, wearing one of Erik’s metal rock band t-shirts as it was long enough for her, and Charles is in his living room, just about to go through his nightly routine before joining her. “I wasn’t even the one coming. I was coming by proxy.”

“I really must meet this girl,” Erik says. “You sound entirely too happy about this for someone who may have suffered brain damage—wait, what am I saying.”

“If I did, it was worth it,” Charles says. “She was really trying to control it, Erik, just as I was telling her to, but I suppose I was too ambitious. In a sense.”

Erik snorts. “I’ll say. You were psychically edging a virgin telepathic-telekinetic. You’re lucky she didn’t accidentally destroy your apartment, you remember how I was. Is anything broken?”

“Not that I could tell, so that’s an accomplishment at least, isn’t it? And I suppose it was rather complicated. But like I said, she was able to curb it and redirect it, and it did result in a more spectacular orgasm, as I told her it would. I hope I was able to keep up the barriers I put around here—I suppose if I wasn’t, I’ll get a strongly worded letter from the neighbors.”

“Next time, if you’re trying to teach control, don’t stop. Keep going but tell her to stop feeling it.”

“Oh, but I want her to feel it, you sadist. Like I said, I just don’t want her to feel like she’s at its mercy.”

“Apparently _you_ are at its mercy. How guilty and frightened does she feel about the fact that her orgasms can threaten other people?”

Charles pauses. “Hopefully not at all?”

Erik sighs. “You’re a Psychology professor, Charles. Good night,” he adds, with weary amusement.

His ablutions completed, Charles returns to bed, where Jean is still sound asleep, a remarkable thing for a telepath in Manhattan. As he arranges himself behind her, close but not touching, she stirs, murmuring. “Shhh,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”


	3. Chapter 3

Charles wakes while Jean is still asleep, and goes through his morning routine except for breakfast. He'll make that for the both of them, later. Meanwhile, he's thinking about his conversation with Erik.

Erik’s Iron Maiden shirt is all Jean is wearing. He's going to keep it simple this time, he thinks as he gently parts her thighs and arranges himself between them. He takes a moment to admire her—she’s rosy and delicate and lovely.

Rather than go into her mind to wake her, he licks her, a long slow swipe of his tongue to start. She tastes as sweet as he's imagined.

She stirs; groggy and startled, she tries to close her legs at first, then lets them fall open. He gives her another lick, and can hear the shuddering breath she takes.

_Do you want me to stop?_

Without hesitation: _No_.

_Thought not_.

He’s careful not to enter her mind this time the way he did last night, to only allow himself to be a sentry at the door, so to speak, so that she can enjoy herself without worrying about harming him, or her surroundings. He’s a firewall. If she doesn’t like anything, she’ll tell him. 

He sends her all this in a summary, then goes to radio silence, and sets to his enjoyable task, his hands at the backs of her thighs as his tongue strokes her. As much as he wants to be inside her mind for this, to know what she wants, what she feels, there's time enough for that some other day, perhaps. Besides, it’s not too difficult to tell she wants it firmer when she presses up against his mouth. With the firmer tonguing, she’s soon so caught up that she’s making soft little sounds, and squirming to the point that he has to firmly hold her hips still. 

Apparently, just knowing he's there, like a safety net, helps her. Jean comes with shivers and gasps, and sends the feeling of a cresting wave into his mind. Thinking she must be too sensitive, he raises his head, but she grabs his hair and pushes him back down. Chuckling softly, he goes to it again.

This time, he licks her firmly as he’d done before but then sucks at her clitoris, and she lets out a surprised, choked cry, pulling at his hair. Once, twice more and she's coming; a moment to make sure she's not about to break anything in the apartment and he slips his tongue into her, making her shriek, her peak stuttering and drawing out (he doesn't need to be in her mind to be able to tell that) as he works it in and out of her, slick with her arousal. 

Quitting while he's ahead, he moves to lie alongside her. Ideally, he’d love to eat her out for ages—it’s one of his favorite things—but that would overwhelm her far more than he wants. She's still not completely awake, and she's dazed, breathing hard, blinking at him. 

“I'll make you coffee and an omelette,” he tells her. “Shower if you like.” 

Let her have a few moments alone to process and to wake up. If he were a lover, he'd stay and touch her more, but as he's not, it doesn’t seem called for, despite what he’s just been doing.

She nods, and he moves to his chair to go to the kitchen, but not before stopping at the bathroom to wipe his mouth and chin, grinning at himself in the mirror.

“Third time's the charm, I think,” he says to her as she walks into the kitchen sometime later, freshly showered and with wet hair but again in Erik's Iron Maiden shirt. 

She nods, subdued despite the buzzing satisfaction that he can tell still thrums through her body, and sits at the table across from him, where she picks up the coffee mug placed there and drinks. 

“I believe catching you off guard is what helped—you weren’t self-conscious and your preconceived notions weren’t in play, so you learned that things could go just fine if you weren’t overpreparing and anticipating.” 

She nods again.

“I think it’s good for you to know such things are possible. And you mustn't castigate yourself for last night. It was my fault, I was overly ambitious. I ought to have behaved more responsibly. But as we see, you can keep control perfectly well.”

“Yeah….” She sighs, and he can sense something in the air around her loosening. “I just feel bad for burdening you.”

He chokes out a laugh. “Jean, there’s no burden, believe me.”

“You didn’t ask for this,” she says. “All this complication.”

“It’s not so much, and besides, I love complication,” Charles replies, earnest, passing her a plate with an omelette. “Eat. You need your energy.” He winks, and she smirks.

“What’s in it for you?” she asks, several bites into her omelette and several drinks into her coffee.

“Let’s see,” Charles says. “The challenge, being with another telepath, a gorgeous girl in my bed? Can’t be any of that.”

He catches a frisson of self-consciousness at being called “gorgeous,” a mixture of pleasure and wry disbelief. Charles decides to do what he can to disabuse her of the notion that she’s not worthy of the descriptor. “I feel like a problem to be solved,” Jean continues. 

“Oh, Jean, no. You _have_ a problem and I, a fellow telepath, am trying to help you with it. Believe me, I know it’s a challenge dealing with sex as a telepath. But there’s no reason to deny it to yourself, if you’re with someone you trust. I can only imagine how being telekinetic complicates things, especially if you’re not quite practiced at controlling your powers.” Her face falls, although she schools it quickly back to her usual expression. “You’re young yet, Jean. You’re one of the most powerful mutants I’ve ever encountered. Of course it’s going to take you a while. You need practice, that’s all.” He takes a long drink of tea. “And what better than exposure therapy?” he teases, and she laughs.

Once she’s finished her omelette and coffee, she says, “I should get going,” with an air of apology.

“You’re not imposing on me,” he tells her. “You can stay as long as you like. At the same time, if you want to get on home you won’t be offending me. We’ll do as we did before, if you like, and talk again on Monday.”

“Okay. I….” Jean stands, and takes a deep breath. “I can tell you I want to come back next Friday. If that’s how we’re doing this. If you’re not doing anything else.”

“Friday will be fine,” Charles says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

She smiles, and stands. As he finishes his tea, he watches as her cup and plate float up from the table and over to the sink, landing in it neatly and with care. _Well done_ , he says to her as she walks back to his bedroom to get dressed, her mood lifted.


	4. Chapter 4

Fifteen minutes before Jean is due that Friday, Charles receives a text from her. Before he opens it, he expects it to be her saying she can’t come, or she’s changed her mind at the last minute. All week at school she’d been perfectly cordial and professional, but it’s always possible she’s decided against continuing to see him. He steels himself for disappointment, and in the back of his mind he’s starting to think of what to say to her next time he sees her at school. Taking a deep breath, he opens the text. Maybe she’s just running late.

 _Take your Viagra_ is all it says.

He does.

She arrives on time, as does his erection. He’s only in his boxers when she shows up, and thankfully there’s no one in the hall behind her to see. Not that he’s particularly concerned about his neighbors, but they’d just be a distraction right now.

She closes the door, and he asks, just to be certain, “So it’s to be tonight, then? You’re sure?” Jean is already starting to take off her dress. “Right,” Charles says, a little faint, as she steps out of her shoes, casting her dress to the couch. He clears his throat, attempting to gather his wits as she looks at him. Her dress is nondescript, but her underwear is scarlet satin with black lace trim. 

He’s not going to survive this.

“Bedroom,” she says. It’s not a question. There’s a light of amusement in her eyes as he nods, and rolls after her. 

In his bedroom, she stops and takes hold of the clasp of her bra. “Let me,” he says, and she relinquishes it. 

He must be gaping at her as she turns and he takes her bra off, because she says, for the first time tonight looking uncertain instead of determined, “Too much?” Meaning the lingerie, which she may well have bought for this occasion.

“God, no,” he says, reaching for her knickers. “You look… I don’t even have words.” Remembering how uncomfortably the term “gorgeous” had sat with her last time she’d been over, he sends her feelings of intense admiration tinged with lust as he pulls her knickers down over the swell of her hips. She shimmies out of them, and he laughs, breathless. ”I’d want you to stay in those if I didn’t want so much for you to be naked instead, and, well, it’s one or the other, I’m afraid.” 

She walks to the bed, and he transfers to it. Clearing his throat, he watches her lie down next to him. “We do have a bit of a dilemma, however,” he says, looking down at his boxer-covered erection. “I immediately complied with your request that I take the Viagra. I suppose I was… overeager.”

“I texted you fifteen minutes before I was supposed to be here,” she points out, distractingly naked and long and lovely. “That was kind of the idea.”

Charles takes a brief moment to reflect again on how much he likes the idea of Jean wanting him ready for her, and runs a hand through his hair. “Right. But it’s essentially a… ticking time-bomb, if you’ll pardon the expression, because I’m not sure how long it’ll last and it’s only proper for you to get a great deal of warming-up.”

“I might not need that much,” she says, but she sounds uncertain, staring at his cock. Oh, most of his direct feeling there is gone but he can sense the tumescence, the heaviness of it, and he can amp up the nerves in his mind to make himself feel as much as he can, should he choose. “I’ve used… toys,” she says, hesitant, gaze flicking up to meet his. 

“I assume you use your powers with them?” She nods. He’s quiet for a moment, contemplating that mental image. She’s starting to look concerned, so he says, “Good Christ, that’s the hottest thing I’ve heard in ages.” He swipes a hand through his hair. “I really must see that sometime…. God, come here.” Putting an arm around her, he kisses her, pulling her closer; the same arm pulls back so he can palm her breast. She sighs, opening to him. 

_I want you in my mind when I fuck you_ , she says, and he shivers; it’s said so matter-of-factly, yet there’s a certain shyness underneath it. _I want you to feel what I’ll feel when you’re inside me_.

 _Whatever you say, darling. If you think we can handle that without destroying the entire block_. He feels as though he can say that in jest now. It’s actually a very affecting thing she’s requested—he’s always wanted to know what it feels like for a woman he’s fucking, but none of them have been comfortable with letting him do it, and he doesn’t press. Erik lets him in his mind, of course, but Erik trusts him with his life and has for years. And, well, Erik is Erik.

Talking of Erik, he can almost hear him saying “Really, Charles? Almost no foreplay, you just went right for it?” and ignoring Charles’ protests that he was in a race against time. He kisses Jean deeply, expertly—he’s always been a good kisser, if he says so himself—as his hands refamiliarize themselves with her lovely breasts. She’s squirming, restless, arching into the touches and making soft little sounds in her throat. When he trails a hand down her belly to between her legs, fingers gentle enough but probing, she gasps, clinging to him. She’s already rather slick, and not embarrassed about his knowing, not as she might have been weeks ago. It’s incredibly validating—so many women hide themselves as much as they can, no matter what their real reactions are in their minds, and though Jean is a private person, the fact that she can let go with him is so promising. She _trusts_ him, and as a telepath, he finds that to be a rare thing, let alone a _reason_ to be trusted. 

Her reaction to being touched there is compelling—she presses herself against his fingers while moaning into his kiss. Such soft, sweet, desperate little sounds. God, he can only hope he’s worthy of what she wants from him tonight.

Jean breaks and blinks at him. “Do you need to get your boxers off?” she asks, voice low and breathy. 

“Yes… yes, I ought to do that,” he says, and suddenly taking off his boxers seems like an interminable chore. Though just going through his flies is an option, if she’s naked, he wants to be, too. In the meantime, he sets her with a task. “Lube and condoms are in the nightstand drawer, be a dear.” 

She gets out of bed to get them, and he’s nearly distracted from taking his boxers off by watching her—God, she’s gorgeous—and her soft jiggling as she retrieves the lube and condoms. As she clambers back onto the bed, she realizes how gobsmacked he is, and smirks, ducking her head. He casts his boxers to the floor.

“I’ll do this bit, save us some time,” he says, taking the lube and condom from her. She watches with interest, even biting her lip at one point—Christ—and then he’s ready, and he blinks at her, wordless. She blinks back, nods, and kneels on the bed next to him.

He watches her straddle him, holding him right where she needs him to be, and holds his breath, unblinking, staring at his cock, at her, at where they’re about to meet.

As she starts to lower herself onto him, he can sense how tense she is. She needs distraction. He smiles, sly. “I don’t suppose you ever thought of me when you fucked yourself with those toys.”

He hears her little intake of breath, and she blinks at him. _I did_. He gives her his most winning smile, hands moving to cup her breasts. _I can’t believe you’d mention that_ , she says, telepathically because her mouth is occupied with groaning softly as she sinks down, very slowly, wincing. 

“Worked, didn’t it? Did you like listening to my voice, on those videos? In class?” he teases, in his best teaching voice, thumbs lightly rubbing her nipples. “Did you imagine me saying absolutely filthy things to you? ‘Lovely tits and perfect cunt, Jean, top marks, I’m going to fuck you ‘til you scream’?”

She smacks his chest lightly with one hand. She’s actually blushing now—as fair as she is, she’s been pink before, but now she’s honest to God blushing, her arousal ratcheting up so that it makes the room hotter. Knowing that his teasing hit its mark, and that she really has thought about him and his voice that way to the point of having a Pavlovian response to it turns him on even more, just as much as watching her take him in.

As she’d asked him to earlier, as she sinks down completely onto him he slides into her mind, feeling what it’s like to have him inside her, the delicious discomfort of the fullness, changing into a pulsing awareness as she adjusts. She runs her palms up and down his chest, a little mindless and restless. He gasps as she presses his nipples, and she stops to do it again, watching him squirm, that having focused her a bit. “So sensitive,” she teases, sending him a brief memory of her first night over here, as if he needed the reminder.

All he can do is stutter out a laugh and breathlessly say “You have no idea.” Ever since his accident, his chest has been far more responsive, the nerves compensating there and on a great deal of his upper body. In fact, the feeling causes him to draw out of her mind, before he gets too caught up.

“I have no idea, huh?” Jean presses down with her palms, rubs, then pinches him hard, both nipples at once. Shuddering, he digs his fingers into her hips, moving her on him, making her gasp. She ducks her head, her hair cascading over her shoulder. “You might not be able to feel it but this is all making me so much wetter,” she admits, breathless. 

“Oh, can't I feel it?” He moves one hand to rub her, pinch her clitoris and touch her where she's stretched around him. She squirms, gasping.

“Did you think about me?” she asks, and he’s a little taken aback by the sudden question, but she must want some sort of balance to her earlier admission, another sign of mutual desire.

“I’ve thought about you… rather a lot, my dear. Especially since you kissed me.” His fingers still trace over her, not wanting to stop touching that hot, soft skin; he slips back into her mind.

“So you thought about me before then?” There’s a challenge in her tone.

“Oh, yes. You’re very striking. And an excellent student. Very memorable. I must say, I didn’t quite think I’d end up in this position with you, however. I’m still wondering how I got to be so lucky,” he gets out, a little breathless now himself. She’s fucking herself on him now, rolling her hips experimentally as she figures out quite how it works like this with his cock instead of a toy inside her, and he commits to memory the look on her flushed face: eyes slightly unfocused, her brow creased in determination, pink lips parted.

“I mean—Did you think about me—” she’s gasping now— “because you wanted me,” and now he understands. Jean’s hungry for praise, having been denied what she’s deserved for so long.

“Of course I wanted you,” he says. _You’re amazing, Jean. Everything about you, you’re exquisite _.__

__He digs his fingers into her hips again, both hands once more. She whimpers; one hand on his chest, the other working her clitoris, she grinds herself down on his cock. A cry breaking from her throat as her hips roll, her breasts bouncing, she tilts her head back with her hair wild. “Professor,” she gasps, high and breathless, and he may have told her some time ago that she could start calling him Charles now but this is just fine, just fine._ _

__“Come on, my darling; come on my cock, there’s a good girl,” he murmurs roughly, watching her face, rapt. She comes as if at his words, quivering, almost sobbing with it, eyes fluttering closed, her back arching._ _

__He soaks up her orgasm, relishing feeling it as he watches her, both from her mind and from feeling the faint yet marvelous pressure of her clenching around him. And just as all that’s about to tip him into coming, Jean goes into his mind and touches something._ _

__He can do this to others, to an extent he can do it to himself, but he can’t surprise himself, not like this. And he might be surprised by it, but he doesn’t pass out this time—no, she’s too good, she’s got him. She measures his peak out without letting it totally overwhelm either of them, even as her own aftershocks are rolling through her, even as she comes again. Such control, when only weeks ago she was despairing of ever having any._ _

__He doesn’t have any of those coherent, analytic thoughts while it’s happening, of course; it’s only later, Jean lying half on him with his arms around her, the condom binned, that he’s able to ponder what’s happened._ _

__“I’m sweaty,” she remarks, voice muffled, sounding exhausted but apologetic, body tensing._ _

__“Mmm, that’s perfectly fine,” Charles says, sliding his fingertips down the middle of her back along the dip of her spine, her sweat slick on his skin. “So’m I. Means you enjoyed yourself, that’s all. I’d be concerned if you weren’t sweating, quite frankly.” She relaxes more then, under his touch and at his words of reassurance._ _

__“How did you lose yours?” she asks. It takes him a moment to realize what she’s asked._ _

__“To my high school girlfriend, Moira. Before my accident,” he tells her. “She was a dear girl. And then, of course, there was Erik. I was his first. And now I’m yours.” He clears his throat. “Your first.”_ _

__Jean hasn’t seemed to notice his wording, now more caught up in reflections on her own situation, her mood sinking. There’s a long quiet before she speaks again. “I used to think… this would never happen. Either I wouldn’t be able to control myself or I wouldn’t be able to find anyone I trusted. Or both.” She sighs. “What if I never find anyone else I trust?”_ _

__“Jean.” Charles cups her jaw, strokes his thumb over her cheek, which is still hot to the touch. He aches on her behalf, her own sadness and loneliness tinging his mood for a moment. “You will.” He kisses her forehead. “You trust me. It’s not an impossibility by any means that you’ll find someone else.” She nods, and he can sense her gloom receding a bit. “Erik and I, we trust each other to a degree I wouldn’t have thought possible. Something like that, that love, can be yours, I’ve no doubt.” He tucks a few strands of her long red hair behind her ear, laughing softly as he tells her, “He does want to meet you, you know.”_ _

__Jean laughs as well, wry but genuinely amused. “Oh, no. Am I in trouble for seducing you?”_ _

__“Mm, hardly. Rather the opposite, I think you’ve a new admirer. Thank you, by the way, for my orgasm.” He grins. “You’re a quick study. I had faith in you, but you exceeded my expectations. To excellent effect. Chin up, darling, no need to be glum. You did wonderfully.” His grin widens, and he closes his eyes for a moment, with a blissful sigh. “I’ll be remembering that for ages,” he groans. “My God.”_ _

__“Yeah, I guess it was okay,” Jean says with a straight face. He laughs, and draws her close for a proper kiss._ _


	5. Chapter 5

“Jean,” Charles says with a yawn, turning off his alarm, “just ask him, will you, I’m more than certain he’ll be amenable.”

“Ask me what?” Erik queries, voice rough with sleep. Jean, nestled between them all night on Charles’ sinfully broad bed, has gone still with mortification, Charles sees as he turns to face her. The winter light is thin, but she looks lovely regardless, pale skin and sleek, fiery hair. Charles smiles at her, but speaks to Erik. 

“Erik, be a dear and fuck Jean, would you; she can’t stop thinking about it and it’s really rather distracting.” He winks at her.

Jean has in fact spent much of the night with her backside against Erik’s front, all of them quite close since it’s December and rather chilly, and certain anatomical realities became inescapably apparent to her, sparking a riot of thought, which filtered through to Charles’ dreams.

Erik, meanwhile, has a predictable response to being pressed up against a young woman’s rear for most of the night. Jean, however, isn’t going to read his mind to find out exactly what he’s thinking; Charles admires her restraint. She assumed that Charles’ boyfriend was interested in meeting her and getting to know her, but not much more. Even being sandwiched between them in bed hadn’t really clued her in; she’d assumed his erection was just a matter of course for the morning. Regardless, she’s turned on as well, and their thoughts are very loud.

“Aren’t you going to be more distracted if we fuck?” Erik asks, but he’s already pulled the sheets back and is sliding his hand up a rather startled Jean’s hip and then under her t-shirt—actually, she’s wearing another one of Erik’s metal band shirts.

Charles pretends to consider. “Yes, but I think we’ll all ultimately be much happier.”

Erik was immediately taken with Jean, no doubt in part due to Charles’ reporting to him as well as his knowledge of her powerful mutation, but Jean was not quite as sure what to expect. She does seem to regard him in a similar way as Charles does, albeit to a much lesser degree; there’s just something striking about Erik’s mind, apparently, where telepaths are concerned. She’s definitely attracted to him physically, as he is to her, of course. But a cross-country flight left Erik with little energy or focus for acquainting himself properly with Jean last night at dinner and later at Charles’ apartment, although by all indications, he’s feeling a good bit perkier this morning.

“All right?” Erik asks Jean, hand skating over her bare stomach and raising goosebumps Charles can see. He watches her nipples harden under the thin cotton of the shirt. Looking over her shoulder at him, she nods, blushing. 

She looks back at Charles. “Do you want to listen in?” she asks him.

Charles nods. “I think I’d rather like to watch, as well,” he muses, and grins at her.

Once Jean realizes Erik’s truly interested and Charles fully approves, she relaxes, letting Erik pull her shirt off (“It looks much better on you—but I’d rather it be off”) and tilting her head when he kisses her neck as she lies down again alongside him, facing Charles once more. 

As Charles watches, Erik’s long-fingered hand traces over her breasts, and they both inhale. _Take my panties off_ , Jean tells Charles with a glance, and he does, taking the opportunity to palm her hips, her thighs. He’s a little surprised she wore any underwear, actually. Usually she sleeps bare.

_Maybe I wanted you to take them off_ , she says. There’s a wet patch on the gusset, Charles notices. He sends her a small wave of acknowledgement of it, smiling. Something excites her about him knowing how responsive she is, and he’s all too happy to indulge her.

_I want to see you put your hand between her legs_ , Charles tells Erik, who immediately complies, tracing his fingers down Jean’s front as she parts her thighs for him, hesitant at first, but only fleetingly so. She’s so much less shy now, so much more conscious of her appeal, but even after a few months of Charles’ intimate attentions there’s still a coltish innocence to her at times. This morning, it’s hardly to be seen. 

Erik is acting with a sort of gentlemanly ferocity, Charles thinks as he gently squeezes Jean’s breasts. He savors the feeling of her nipples hard against his palm as he watches Erik’s fingers explore her folds, and listens to Jean’s little sighs and panting breaths. Erik gently nips her neck, and she gasps, rolling her hips to press her clit against his fingers. He pinches it, and she shudders.

_Is she wet for you?_ Charles asks Erik.

“You know she is,” Erik replies, always impatient with Charles’ rhetorical questions, no matter the context. 

Charles grins. _Mm, I do. Well? Go on then. She might get impatient and make you_. 

Erik slips two fingers inside her and she gasps, reaching behind herself to cup the back of his head. _Bite me again_ , she tells him. He does. At this angle, he can’t quite fuck her with his fingers, but it’s not for lack of trying. 

_Go at it from behind_ , Charles tells him, and Erik does. Charles can see it on Jean’s face when his fingers are in her cunt again. The easier angle has her writhing almost immediately, lips parted, the little sounds from her throat almost desperate. Charles lightly brushes the pad of a thumb over her pointed little nipples before moving his fingers to her clit, then to where Erik’s fingers are moving inside her, where she’s wet around them, slicking Charles’ fingers too.

_Don’t let her come yet_ , Charles tells Erik, letting Jean hear. His own touches are light, not enough to help get her anywhere, not yet.

_Lick my fingers_ , he tells her, putting them to her mouth. She licks and sucks her taste from his skin, blinking at Charles, flushed; it’s nothing they haven’t done before (his fingers are especially sensitive, since his accident), but not with anyone else watching, and he makes sure Erik can feel it, too. Charles strokes his thumb over her lower lip; her lashes flutter. 

_Now Erik’s_ , he says; Erik’s fingers are at her mouth in moments, and she wraps her lips around them, too, sucking her wetness off. Her eyes are dark as she stares at Charles, and she’s moving her hips in little restless twitches, wanting to be filled again, wanting to be fucked.

“Go on then, fuck her,” Charles tells Erik, low. “She’s wild for it.”

Erik nods. Watching and feeling Jean suck Charles’ fingers and then his own made him even harder. He hastily gets out of his pajama trousers, the only article he’s wearing.

“Condom, please, Jean,” Charles says. _We know you don’t need lube_. He makes it clear how much he approves of her state, wanting to vanquish any lingering doubts she has about her reactions. He praises her every time, and she soaks it up, but years of feeling out of step do cause her to second guess herself. She needs to know that partners other than himself will appreciate her too.

_Erik, how do you feel about Jean being so wet and ready for you?_ he asks, making sure Jean is listening. 

In answer, Erik simply raises his eyebrows and looks down at his erection, which he’s stroking. Jean finally gets an eyeful of it, and Charles watches her swallow, her ears turning red. Though she’s nervous, she’s just as excited by the idea of getting fucked by this sizeable cock. And Charles, frankly, can’t wait to watch. It’s a pity they haven’t had the opportunity to do this sort of thing before, but there are few Charles would trust with this, and Erik’s only just now been able to visit. Perhaps the time is right as it is after all. 

With her power Jean opens the drawer of his nightstand, and floats out a condom; she’s got lots of practice with that now. Though Erik’s pleased with the easy display of Jean’s impressive mutation, there’s a flash of disappointment from him as well; he wants to come inside her, and there’s something in there about wanting to impregnate her with powerful mutant children. She stares at him, as does Charles. The condom hangs over him. 

“What?” Erik says, brows raised. “Telepaths,” he sighs, taking the condom from the air. Charles can’t really blame him for his primitive desires; everything about Jean says young, ripe, fertile, gorgeous. That said, pregnancy is not remotely a desire of Jean’s, regardless. 

“You realize we can kill you with our minds,” Jean says, and Erik groans. 

“Yes. Yes I do,” he says, pausing to stroke his cock again, closing his eyes for a moment to contain himself before putting the condom on. 

“Face me,” Charles murmurs as a reminder. “I want to watch." 

Jean gets on her side again, facing him, and Erik lifts Jean’s top leg, giving Charles an excellent view as he puts the head of his cock to her cunt. _Tease her a bit_ , Charles tells Erik, and Jean makes a little frustrated noise as he rocks his hips there, subtle and rhythmic, rubbing her, pressing without entering. 

“Please,” Jean gasps, impatient and needful, and at that neither Charles nor Erik can deny her any longer. Erik starts to press in, and Jean’s gasp turns into a groan. A long groan, as Erik is long and he’s going achingly slowly, savoring it. 

Charles watches his boyfriend sink his impressive length into Jean’s tight, wet little cunt, and borrows how it feels to be stroked by that heat; at the same time, he watches Jean take him, feeling what it’s like for her to be so stretched and filled. Of course, he’s felt that from her before, but in tandem with what it feels like for Erik, and the visual, Charles is transfixed like he’s never been. Right now, none of them have words, mental or otherwise. 

One hand fisted in Erik’s hair again, with the other Jean rubs her clit, and Charles gasps along with her at that first pre-orgasmic tremor. Erik’s hips piston steadily, stuttering briefly when Jean’s cunt flutters around him, and then move faster. Jean closes her eyes, tilting her head back; she cries out when Charles sucks at one of her nipples, and there’s another mini-orgasm; another when he gives the other the same treatment, breast bouncing as he releases it. He gives her a few more licks—he loves the feel of her on his tongue, and how incredibly responsive she is to that, so wet now that she’s slicking Erik’s thighs, moaning softly—but he doesn’t want to look away for too long, either. What an embarrassment of riches. 

For a time, Charles just watches them move together, learning each other. Jean is almost as tall as Erik, long-limbed and elegant like he is; they look good together, he thinks on a more detached level than the one that’s watching them fuck. 

She’s in Erik’s head just enough to tell him how it feels for her, how much she likes it. Erik, although his eyes are starting to glaze over, is holding up well, considering he feels Jean’s arousal from her body and her mind, and can feel arousal from Charles’ mind as well as his own. But soon he’s going to be past the point of showing off what a suave, controlled, almost machine-like fuck he can be. 

_Charles_ , Jean says, mental voice breathless. _I want to come, I need to come. Make me come, Charles_. 

_Of course, darling_. 

Jean is perfectly capable of coming without his help; that she asks for it anyway thrills him. He puts his hand over hers on her clit, touching her, touching the base of Erik’s cock, and Jean spreads her thighs more and tilts her hips as Erik adjusts his hold on her legs, letting Charles see everything even better now, the both of them offering the sight and the feel to Charles. 

Erik pumps his hips just a bit faster; every time he’s deep Jean trembles with it. She’s pulling on Erik’s hair now without realizing it, and she’s so close. Rolling her clit between his fingertips, Charles knows what she needs. He says to her, letting Erik hear, _I want you to come on Erik’s cock, Jean darling. I know how much you love having it inside you. Let me watch you come on his cock. I want to feel you come, both of you._

Erik’s hips stutter momentarily, and then he’s going in shorter, sharper, faster thrusts. He’s close too; Charles glances up to see him panting harshly against her neck, his teeth grazing her soft skin there, a bit wild-eyed and red-faced. She shivers, closing her eyes, lips parted on little panting moans, and Charles looks again at Jean’s rosy cunt and Erik’s cock pumping in and out of it. 

_Come on, my darlings_ , Charles says, with a sudden wash of affection for them both. 

Erik digs his fingers into Jean’s thigh, and she tilts her head back, panting more loudly now, mindlessly seeking her orgasm as she tries to simultaneously press back against Erik and forward against Charles’ hand. In answer he rubs her more firmly, and she comes at last with a breaking cry, Erik following immediately, rapidfire and then slowing down, shuddering and groaning against Jean’s neck. Charles has to close his eyes for a moment, savoring the flood of feeling from both of their minds. 

He opens his eyes to find Jean regarding him. With Erik still inside her, rocking his hips just slightly, she reaches for Charles, sliding her hand to the back of his neck and pulling him closer to kiss him, still breathing hard, little gasps in her throat. He kisses back, deep and with no hesitation, hand going to her breast to tease a tight nipple, smiling into the kiss when he knows she’s having little tremors in her cunt from that, Erik groaning quietly in mock protest at the tightening around his spent cock. 

Then Jean’s fingers find Charles’ nipple, and he gasps. She draws back to kiss his neck: her lips tease and her teeth nip at every sensitive area he has there, knowing them well by now. Dipping her tongue into the hollow of his throat, she pinches his nipples hard, and Charles comes staring at Erik, the both of them blinking at each other, panting and dazed. Jean hadn’t had to say a thing to him. 

He cups her jaw, pulling her close, and kisses her again, probing and thorough as he catches his breath. He honestly could kiss her for ages, he’s often thought—she’s so in sync with him, so receptive. Erik is always in sync with him as well, so achingly familiar after all this time that it’s like coming home being with him, but with Jean there’s still an exciting newness; he still wants to impress her, to be a certain way for her, whereas Erik knows him too well for that. 

She shifts back; he’s weakened again by how stunning she is, flushed, bright-eyed, fiery hair in disarray. He can feel how thrumming with satisfaction she is; there’s still a trembling edge of excitement and nervousness about having Erik here. She’s a bit wary of him, but that’s only healthy; she doesn’t know him like Charles does. He sends her a little wave of pride for continuing to keep such nice control over her powers, even with so much going on, and she smiles. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this grateful for my telepathy,” Charles remarks, regarding the two of them. “Thank you, my darlings.” He lifts a strand of Jean’s hair from where it’s stuck to her neck, and smooths it back. Neither Jean nor Erik knew other mutants growing up; Charles’ powers had come on early, and he’d thought he’d gone mad for years. Yet here they are together, the power between the three of them more than enough to handily destroy the world. Instead, they’ve spent the morning like this, enjoying themselves and each other. 

Erik draws out with an answering wince from Jean, and bins the condom. They lie there quietly until Jean gets up to go to the loo, naked. Silently, they both watch her go, and then Erik chuckles, moving into the space she’s vacated, nuzzling into Charles. Charles inhales his scent, his fresh sweat, smiling as Erik puts an arm over him. Erik’s so easy with him now, so proprietary and natural that he wishes he could go back to when they were younger and Erik was standoffish and bottled up, and tell himself “Look, all this will be yours.” 

“Do you see why I couldn’t resist her?” he asks Erik, feeling his smile go a little wistful and melancholy. 

Erik laughs softly. “I do indeed. Charles, falling in love with your projects.” Tone gently chiding, he raises a brow. He is, of course, including himself. 

“You aren’t my ‘projects,’” Charles protests. “And besides, who can blame me? You’re all so lovely,” he teases, trailing his fingertips down the side of Erik’s face. 

“Does she feel the same about you?” Erik asks quietly, Charles’ fingertips lightly tapping his lips now. 

“She doesn’t,” Charles admitted. He’s wistfully imagined a world where they’re both his, but he knows it can’t be—close as Jean is to him, she doesn’t love him that way. “It’s just as well, I suppose.” He sighs, but can’t help smiling still. “She’s not mine to keep, I know that. She’s my fledgling bird—I’m helping her learn to fly and then she’ll go off on her own.” If he knows himself, he’s not hopeless when it comes to her—this is more infatuation than a deep love, but still. It might help if she wasn’t his TA, but it makes it so much more fun to have her in the same room during class as they exchange dirty thoughts, with no one else the wiser—it’s excellent practice, after all. 

“Poor Charles,” Erik murmurs, amused, kissing his palm. “A terrible burden is yours, having to train nubile beauties in the ways of the bedroom.” 

Charles has to laugh. Moments later, they can hear Jean’s bare footsteps in the hall, and Charles says loudly so she can hear (a silly thing in and of itself), “No, Erik, I definitely think you should make us all breakfast,” as if they’re in the middle of a heated debate. 

“Must I?” Erik says, with a mock long-suffering sigh as Jean walks back in the room. He shifts out of the way to give her her space back. 

“Yes, you must,” she says, smiling, getting back in bed between them and giving Charles a kiss as Erik’s hand cups her shoulder. Erik’s thoughts are already straying to having another go or several—Jean on top, Jean riding Charles, Jean on her back—and she rolls over to consider him. “After breakfast,” she says, “maybe,” and kisses him, brief and a little clumsy, but Erik is charmed. 

“But we’re both naked now.” Erik can’t help an attempt at cajoling. 

“Breakfast,” Charles tells him, pretending sternness. Erik sighs and gets out of bed, making a point of doing so naked and taking his time leaving. 

“Do at least wear an apron, Erik, you’ll regret cooking in the nude,” Charles calls after him. Jean is laughing softly. He turns to her, kisses her cheek, and sits up, preparing to transfer himself to his chair. She yawns, and he chuckles. 

“Have a nap, Jean dear, you’ve earned it,” he tells her. “I’ll wake you for breakfast." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've enjoyed writing this fic so much, I hate to end it! My sincere thanks to everyone who's been reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks [widgenstain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/widgenstain/) and [gerec](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [a certain degree of folly (meeting the next remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8122006) by [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl)




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